


81. “Come with me.”

by KittenKin



Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:16:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: Well, andthatcertainly wasn’t what Sherlock had expected to come out of John’s mouth as he got ready to leave (Sherlock) on a date (with someone not-Sherlock).
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605655
Comments: 10
Kudos: 184





	81. “Come with me.”

Well, and _that_ certainly wasn’t what Sherlock had expected to come out of John’s mouth as he got ready to leave (Sherlock) on a date (with someone not-Sherlock).

He’d peeked into the kitchen a few minutes earlier and Sherlock had smiled at the portion of favorite button-down he’d caught sight of. The lovely blue was woven together with single strands of mossy green; practically invisible unless one was nose-to-fiber with the material but giving the fabric a subtle elegance. It set John’s eyes off wonderfully well. But then John had stepped more fully into the room, revealing date trousers and date shoes. Sherlock’s smile had faltered, and he’d hurriedly glued his eyes to his microscope to avoid hurting himself any further.

He could have easily deduced the level of hopefulness John had regarding partnered sexual release in the man’s face and posture. The balance between a friendly shag and a romantic relationship might have been measured by gauging the fondness in the man’s eyes if Sherlock had asked for her name. But he didn’t want to look, see, deduce. It was disappointing enough to know that John had secured himself a date, because Sherlock had stupidly let his guard down in recent weeks.

No dates, not in a few months, and yet John hadn’t fallen into his usual frustrated irritability. His left hand had seemed to stand in quite well for female companionship, and his bed or the shower taking the place of dinners out and a cab back to Emma’s-Shannon’s-Jenny’s place. And best of all, Sherlock had found himself the recipient of the overflow of John’s need to partake of and portion out physical affection.

A pat on the arm here, a fond squeeze of his elbow there, sometimes a friendly nudge-bump. A hand dragged lightly across his shoulders whenever John walked past him. A tweak of an errant curl after John delivered whatever small item Sherlock had demanded be delivered to him. They sat a little closer when sharing the couch, and slouched heavily in their chairs when sharing the fireplace, idly knocking their feet together, playing at annoying each other but smiling fondly instead.

It had felt like something new. Like progress. Like hope.

But now John was wearing his date shoes.

“Come with me,” John suggested, and Sherlock blinked and looked up. The microscope hadn’t even been turned on, so it wasn’t as if it could provide him any clues anyway.

“Where?” Sherlock asked cautiously. Not a date?

“Don’t tell me you haven’t deduced it already,” came the laughing answer, and almost despite himself, Sherlock found the clues flowing in through his eyes, being processed, and falling out in neatly clipped syllables.

“Dressed to impress in your first date outfit, freshly showered and shaved. You’re holding your phone. Just made a reservation somewhere? No, just checked a reservation you previously made. A restaurant caught your attention– oh, the Greek place, from last week’s case.”

Nothing new to see, nothing unexpected. But he was still hung up on what he’d heard.

“Why ask me along? Regretting your choice already, and wanting to ensure a break-up tonight? Surely you could have just texted her. Oh, the restaurant has a cancellation fee. You want me there so the meal’s not wasted, even after she walks out. You know that most places do takeaway boxes.”

John gazed at him for a bit, a funny smile twisting his lips. He seemed to be doing some deducing of his own, or at least mimicking it well enough to make the detective nervously tug at the folds of his robe as if it were possible to literally hide his heart behind the layers of fabric.

“I’m wearing my best trousers and date shoes,” John finally agreed. “And the shirt that has garnered the fewest complaints from you. I reserved a table for two at Ikaros while you were crashed out post-case, and just confirmed it online. But there’s no ‘her’, and I’m not asking you ‘along’. I’m asking you out. On a date. Where two people who like each other go out and have fun, and share a dessert, and hopefully a kiss. What do you think?”

Sherlock stared and stared, but all he saw was John smiling hopefully at him. So he blinked and looked again, but still there was just John looking fond and happy, maybe just a little bit anxious but mostly anticipatory, and– oh, then John began walking closer, and closer, and finally came close enough to stir the folds of Sherlock’s dressing gown. Close enough to lay a hand on Sherlock’s arm and murmur “all right?” ever so softly but still be heard perfectly well, only the warmth from his palm was seeping into Sherlock’s skin now and it was so…warm and distracting and real.

“I…I think…” Sherlock struggled out, “I want the kiss first. Else I’ll…I’ll drive myself distracted all evening, wondering if I’d hallucinated it, and I’ll ruin dinner.”

John laughed a little too loudly, - relieved - and squeezed gently, and brought his other hand up to cup the back of Sherlock’s neck.

“Trust you to flout tradition,” John chuckled, and tipped his head up.


End file.
